Chapter 2

Michael

12-05-2018

The alarm clock sounded. The obnoxious buzzer blared into Michael’s head, waking him up from his good dream. It was still dark outside. Michael glared at the red digits; 4:15 AM, 12th May, 2018. When he sat up, he realised he wasn’t in the bedroom. Then his memory from the last night returned, in the blink of an eye. He had had a fight with his wife. He rubbed his eyes, and gave himself a few slaps on the forehead.

‘You fucking wanker…’ he whispered to himself in anger.

He got onto his feet. The uniform hung on the chair with the help of a hanger. First, however, he put on a casual blue t-shirt and some jogging trousers, which he had put on the chair. He went to the kitchen, made himself a coffee and took a good look into the fridge. He took out everything he needed, and cooked himself an egg and some bacon. A half English breakfast he called it for himself. He turned on the television, muted it, and turned on the subtitles. He changed the channel a few times, and after realising that there wasn’t anything really interesting, he switched the machine off again. He then went to sit at the table with his breakfast. He had grabbed two fresh slices of bread as well. He cut his egg and bacon and put it on his bread. He took two bites and a gulp from his coffee, after which he checked his watch. 05:00 AM. He had to hurry.

As he ate the remainder of his breakfast quickly with one hand, he wrote a little note with the other. In the meantime, his six-year-old daughter had snuck down the stairs.

‘Are you going already, daddy?’

Michael turned towards the little girl, startled. ‘Hey, Amy, shouldn’t you be in bed with mummy? I’ll be back in a few days, sweetheart. Nothing to worry about.’

Amy ran up to him and put her arms around his waist. ‘I’ll miss you, dad. You’re not going because of mummy, right?’

Michael bent over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. ‘I’ll miss you too, sweetie. Now go back to bed, before mum misses you. Of course I’m not going to leave mummy. I have to fly through the sky again.’ Michael grabbed the note. ‘Take this to bed, and give it to mummy when you wake up, sweetie. Would you do that for me?’

The little girl nodded and took the note. As she walked over the tiled floor and back up the stairs, Michael took off his shirt and changed into his uniform.

As he was busy with changing, his phone went. The vibrations buzzed on the glass table. He picked up.

A low voice sounded. ‘Have you done it? Have you got the stuff?’

Michael laughed; ‘Shut up, twat. I’m almost on my way.’

The man on the other side laughed. ‘I’ll see you when I see you.’

Michael hung up the phone and buttoned up his jacket. He went up the stairs, as quietly as possible. He opened the bedroom door. Amy lay in the arms of her sleeping mother. She opened her eyes and looked at Michael. He blew her a kiss. She caught it with her open hand. In the other hand, she had the note. The girl looked at her closed hand, and then put it on her mother’s cheek with a smile. Michael’s heart was filled with joy. He grinned and closed the door. With that same grin, he went back down the stairs. He got his bag, opened the door and went outside.

5:20 AM. It didn’t take long to get to Gatwick airport. At this time in the morning, it took only 30 minutes from Michael’s house. There were some road-works, but since the road was almost empty, there was no big deal. He entered one of the parking lots and left his car in the garage. He wrote his section number on a piece of paper, which he then tucked safely into his wallet together with the parking ticket, which he then returned to his back pocket. There were surprisingly few people in the main hall of the terminal. When coming to the check-ins, he walked across the gigantic hallway, towards a special, “only staff permitted” area. There his bag of hand luggage was checked and approved by the customs. He boarded the plane as the first passengers entered the boarding lounge. He handed his bag to one of the stewardesses, who stored it in a cabinet as he went through the door to the cockpit. His colleague was already seated in the co-pilot’s seat.

‘Good morning, Michael.’

‘Hey, James. Are you ready to fly this thing to New York?’

James grinned. ‘Oh yes, my friend. The Big Apple. I’m gonna spend a fine few days there. How are things with Serana and Amy?’

Michael frowned and buckled up. ‘Not so great, to be honest. Had a heated argument yesterday.’

‘Aww, that’s a shame to hear. Oh well, I’m sure she’ll get over it, mate. She’ll be missing you soon enough.’

Michael grinned. ‘I certainly hope so.’

Whilst the passengers boarded the plane, Michael and John looked everything over. Michael switched the “No smoking” and “Buckle seatbelts” signs on as James went over hydraulics and flaps.

‘James, take care of the auto-pilot, would you?’

‘Sure thing’, James answered.

The two pilots were then finally done with checking all of the metres and settings. After 10 minutes of listening to the faint sounds of chatter, Rachel, the stewardess, was to be heard over the intercom of the cockpit.

‘All the passengers are seated and buckled in.’

Michael took the microphone, checked the channel, and said ‘Thank you, Rachel.’

James looked at him. Michael looked back. ‘What?’

‘That’s my job. I do the talking, you do the flying.’

‘No no, auto-pilot does the flying. I can do the talking if I want to.’

James wanted to say something, but Michael shushed him and said ‘Let me do the talking. I’m much better at it anyways.’

He switched channel and held the talk button. ‘Hello and good morning, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Michael Riggory. I will be your captain for today. We head for the Big Apple. Me and my friend here will take care of your safety. Do not worry; I am more responsible than I sound.’ Faint laughter filled the cockpit. ‘You will be served a choice of breakfast, including some drinks. I’d strongly advise the “Hot Bacon Sandwich”. Also, I’d strongly advise not to take a beer or champagne as your choice of drink, since it is almost 7:00 in the morning. Please make sure that you do not light a cigarette. I repeat: smoking is prohibited. Please turn off your cell-phone, because believe it or not, it actually does mess up our instruments.’ More faint sounds of laughter. 'I hope you enjoy your flight.’

As Michael manually steered the plane towards the take-off lane, James did a final quick check on all the apparatuses . Michael neared the take-off lane, and halted before he steered onto it. After two minutes, the radio-tower gave them permission to take off over the intercom. James grabbed the microphone and switched the channel.

‘Thank you, Tower.’

He put the microphone back with a smile.

Michael chuckled. 'Cheeky bastard.'

He steered the aircraft onto the take-off lane and built up speed. He reached take-off speed much within the time-limit. The tail of the plane tilted down, and off they went. Flight 509 was in the air.

As soon as the plane reached the right altitude, James turned on the auto-pilot. The flight company had just bought the newest engines for its planes, so the flight would only take a small three hours.

‘Imagine. 10 years ago, you would have taken a flight to New York, and you would have to sit in this plane for about six to eight hours,’ said James.

‘Yeah, the good old days, huh?’ grinned Michael.

The first two hours went by slowly. The two men kept checking the instruments and reporting their status to the radio tower. At one point, James was reading a magazine about cars and Michael was staring out of the window. Everything was silent. All there was to be heard was the faint noises of the cabin, as passengers were being served drinks. A sudden bleeping sound filled the cockpit, as if to confirm something. James looked up from his magazine and Michael threw his gaze from the endless cloud formations to the instruments. He looked at the screen on which the route of the autopilot was displayed. The plane was represented by a blue arrow, and there was a fluorescent light-blue line, which represented the route of the flight. Under the screen of the route, was a smaller display, showing a range of coordinates and the name of the destination. A second bleep sounded, and the coordinates of the destination were suddenly changed.

James sat up straight in his chair and put down his car magazine. 'What the hell?'

Below the coordinates, a notice appeared for a split second. It would have been unreadable if Michael didn't already know what it meant: "Calculating a new destination..." A third bleep announced the new destination. The screen read: “New destination: Washington DC.”

A higher-sounding bleep sounded, and the light-blue route on the screen above changed. The straight line bent slightly to the left. The plane tilted slightly. It was just enough for the two men to notice it.

Michael frowned. 'That’s weird.'

He pressed a few buttons to gain access to the auto-pilot's settings, and then edited the coordinates, filling in the long streak of numbers which he read from the paper on the clipboard in his hand. The same process of bleeps and changes took place, and the light-blue route bent to the right this time. The plane tilted back to the right, calmly.

James grabbed the intercom microphone. 'This is flight 509 to New York radio tower, requesting an instrument check upon landing.'

A woman on the other side replied. 'Sure thing, flight 509. A maintenance crew will be waiting for you at your gate.'

'Thank you. Flight 509, out.' James put the microphone back on its spot.

Then the coordinates changed again. "New destination: Washington DC.” The plane tilted to the left. Michael and James looked at each other for a while. 'This is getting rather creepy, don’t you think?', said James.

Michael nodded in agreement. He then switched the coordinates back. The plane tilted back. Then, the coordinates changed again. Michael switched the coordinates back again to New York. The coordinates changed then back to Washington DC.

Michael quickly switched them back again, but it was another failed attempt, and the coordinates returned to Washington DC. The plane was steered to the left.

Michael sighed. 'Okay, if you want to play it like this…'

Michael turned the auto-pilot off. The screen went on standby and the coordinates went blank. The eerie and tense atmosphere left the cockpit. All was calm again, the problem was solved. They’ll have to steer the plane themselves for the last 45 minutes. Michael grabbed the steering wheel and tilted the plane back to its original route.

‘What was that, man? Something is seriously wrong with that machine…’ sighed James as he also took hold of his steering wheel and checked the instruments.

‘We have to get that checked when we-’

The bleeping filled the cockpit, startling both men. The monitor switched on, the screen lit up, and the coordinates for Washington DC appeared on the display again, as well as the light-blue line, which bent to the left. Michael felt the steering wheel click into a lock. The plane shuddered and tilted back to the left with force. It was almost as if it was counter-attack to Michael’s attempt to shut it down. Both men were startled again when the door behind them shifted open. It was Rachel.

‘Is something wrong?’ she asked worriedly as she lent on both men’s chairs.

‘Just some turbulence,’ answered Michael swiftly, before James could say anything.

As soon as Rachel disappeared through the door again, Michael returned to fight the auto-pilot. From the cabin, Rachel’s voice was heard as she reassured the passengers through the intercom that it was just turbulence. In the meantime, James started to panic a little.

‘Michael, what’s going on?’ he said with a stuttering and tiny voice.

Michael had to think on his feet to calm James down a little. ‘James, just report it to the radio tower.’

Whilst James grabbed the microphone, Michael turned the auto-pilot off once more. Again, a failed attempt, as the machine switched itself on again.

‘This is flight 509 to radio tower. Please respond, radio tower.’

‘This is radio tower. Have you changed your route, 509?’ asked a male voice, this time.

‘Yes, that is what we are reporting, radio tower. Our auto-pilot is malfunctioning, and we cannot gain manual control of the aircraft.’

‘You’re not the only one.’ The voice sounded further away, as if the man was addressing someone else. ‘It’s all of them.’

‘What do you mean, radio tower?’ asked James nervously. ‘Can you give us alternative options?’

The static silence of the intercom suddenly muted. The line had dropped.

‘Hello? Hello!?’ James looked at Michael. ‘The communication is down. That’s not possible.’

James desperately threw his gaze over the instruments.

‘Michael, I don’t think we have enough fuel to reach Washington.’ Michael was overwhelmed with what was going on, but not on the verge of a breakdown just yet. He reached out his hand, asking for the microphone. James handed it to him silently. Michael switched channel, waited a few seconds, swallowed a clump of saliva, and spoke into the microphone.

‘Dear passengers… Due to having to dodge an area of heavy turbulence, there will be a delay of about half an hour.’

James stared at Michael with teary eyes. ‘Is that really the right way?’

Michael didn’t know for sure anymore. ‘For now.’ They had actually already passed New York.

Half an hour later, they were still in mid-air. The two men glared at the bright screen of the auto-pilot, and the screen glared back at them. James had watery eyes. They had tried to turn it off again a few times, but the last 20 minutes, they had spent in absolute silence, except for the low beep of the low-fuel alert, as the plane carried them across the states of America, without their own consent.

Michael grabbed the cabin microphone. There had to be a way to make this as good as possible. 'Does every passenger have a cell-phone with him or her? Stewardesses, please check.'

5 minutes later, Rachel came through the door. 'Every passenger has a cell-phone. Michael, what’s wrong?'

Michael looked at her. 'Do you have one?'

Rachel looked confused. 'Yes, why?'

Michael ignored the question. 'Do the other stewards and stewardesses have one?'

'I don't know.'

Michael gave her a little smile. 'Go to the others and check for me, please.'

Rachel turned around and closed the door behind her. Michael looked at James, and then reached out with his hand behind him. He pressed the button which engaged the electrical lock on the door.

'Do you have a cell-phone?' Michael asked. James nodded silently, and wiped his eyes. Michael picked up the microphone.

'Attention please.' Michael’s eyes started watering up. 'I want every passenger to turn on their cell-phone, and call their dearest family-member. Tell them that you love them. Ask them for forgiveness if there is something to be forgiven. Tell them that you’ll never leave them. Do it now.'

Michael took his own cell-phone from his pocket. He dialled his home number, hoping that when the phone rang, back where he was only 5 hours ago. The long, repetetive beep at least gave him the comfort of having a signal. Now, there just had to be an answer. Rachel tried opening the heavy steel door. The lock clicked. James was already chokingly talking to his parents. Someone picked up the phone on the other side.

'Hello?' A tiny, high voice answered. Michael could hardly keep in his nerves when he realised it was his little girl.

'H-hello, sweetie. It's daddy,' Michael said with a cracked voice.

'Are you coming home, daddy?'

The words echoed through Michael's mind.

'Soon, sweetheart. Not yet. I'll see you soon.'

'Okay, daddy. Oh, here's mum! I love you!'

Michael tried to say it back, but the phone was already being handed to his wife.

'Hey Michael. Thanks for your note, that was really sweet.'

'Yeah, well, I meant it, honey. I uh... I really, really love you.'

'Are you in New York yet?'

The alarm for the empty fuel tank stopped. First, the auto-pilot switched off. Then the lights of all the displays. Then the lights in the plane. A silence fell. The engines were off.

'I love you. So unbelievably much...'

The plane suddenly swooped down and to the left. Everything rattled. Michael hung up the phone as he felt the force of the fall, buckled into his seat. All he could still think about was his six-year-old little girl, sleeping in the arms of the love of his life, smiling with happiness and giving her mum his kiss.

People screamed inside the cabin. The screams were only faint, because of the steel door.

James covered his face with his hands, sobbing loudly.

The plane hit the hard, unforgiving ground. All of it was ripped to pieces: machinery, walls, chairs, passengers, landing gear and cockpit. The kerosene ignited and the wreckage blew up in a wave of oblivion.